The Saga of the Seven Espers
by Lady Karai
Summary: Prologue: Every story has a beginning. It began with a war. It began with a spell. It began with a birth, with a death, with a dream, with a nightmare. Every story has a beginning. This is how this story began.
1. The Sorcerer

**The Saga of the Seven Espers: Prologue**

**Description: **Every story has a beginning. It began with a war. It began with a spell. It began with a birth, with a death, with a dream, with a nightmare. Every story has a beginning. This is how this story began.

**Disclaimer: **All characters are the property of Square-Enix and/or Disney.

A/N: Merry Christmas! I hope everyone enjoys my present for this year. Please do not make fun of my poetry (it's supposed to be a sub-standard, child-like poem) and please read the notes at the end of the last chapter for more information regarding this story.

I suppose I should put in some **warnings**: _mild gore_ and _character death_. There you go. Have fun figuring out just what the heck is going on. :)

* * *

**The Sorcerer**

From the writings of King Ansem the Wise, 693 M.T.:

_Ancient legend beyond reck'ning  
Lost before man's history starts  
Knowledge, power, treasures beck'ning  
Hidden in the land of hearts_

_One whose pain and sorrows linger  
Questions burning, fiery coals  
Let him seek to lay his finger  
First upon these seven souls_

xXx

_1722 M.T._

He woke with a start into absolute darkness. The room pressed in thick around him as he lay in bed, wondering what time it was and what had disturbed his sleep. Questioningly, he turned his head back and forth, looking for answers. The blackness on all sides gave him none. The small fire in his grate had long since burned out, and beyond the drawn curtains of his windows, the moon and stars had disappeared behind a wall of threatening clouds. He sat up in bed and scratched lightly at his head, fingers getting tangled in the knotted strands of his short hair. Then, all at once, his mind, fuzzy with sleep, cleared and the knowledge invaded where previously there had been nothing but ignorance.

The Master was awake and at work.

Suddenly on edge, he gripped the blankets with his large hands and searched the surrounding darkness with wild eyes. He could feel it in the air, that particular tang of magic that set his teeth on edge and made them itch. Before coming to work for a sorcerer, he would have firmly claimed that teeth could not feel such a sensation, but that was just one of the many truths in his life that had changed upon taking this job. Another was that darkness could have weight. As he sat there, listening to his own shallow breathing and feeling his heart thump fearfully against his chest, he could feel the darkness resting heavily on his skin. It almost seemed to be a living thing, moving and shifting, like the heavy breaths of some hidden beast.

Fighting down a rising wave of terror, he reached out to his bedside table and blindly groped about for the candle that he had placed there before retiring earlier that evening. The moment his fingers brushed the cool metal of the holder, he snatched for it, bringing it comfortingly to his chest before sending out his hand for its second search. This time, his fingers found the object of their quest quickly: a small warm stone with a surface so smooth and perfect that it felt like expensive glass. The stone joined the candle in his protective embrace, and a moment later, a small burst of flame appeared in the darkness and took hold of the candle's wick.

Releasing a sigh of relief, he allowed the hand holding the stone to fall limply to his lap and gazed gratefully into the candle's welcome light. The tiny circle of illumination did little to pierce the living darkness, but its feeble shine eased the fear in his heart tremendously. As he took a moment to steady his breathing, he glanced at the small stone in his other hand. Its surface glinted red, reflecting the candle's flame and adding color of its own. In the hands of someone more talented than he, this Fire Materia would undoubtedly be powerful enough to burn a house or torch a small army. All he could do with it was make enough fire to light a candle. Still, he was extremely grateful that his Master had entrusted him with such a thing. Materia were more plentiful than Magicite, but even so the stones were only the stuff of legends to the common folk.

With his heart and breath returning to their normal rhythms, he slowly began to feel the pull of duty upon him. The Master was awake, and as the man's loyal manservant, it fell to him to make sure that the Master had all that he needed at all times. Usually on nights like these, he would make the trek to the Master's study only to be snapped at and sent back to bed, yet he still felt the obligation to check. Sighing tiredly, he placed both candle and stone back on the table and then pushed aside his thick blankets to swing his feet over the edge and onto the cold stone floor. He didn't bother to relight the fire and instead set about pulling on his discarded trousers and a pair of boots. In previous years, he wouldn't have bothered dressing, but now there was another servant in the house, a female, and it wouldn't do to be seen wandering around in his nightshirt anymore.

Once he had finished his preparations, he retrieved the candle from the table, walked across his small bedroom, and pushed open the heavy door to enter the hallway. The darkness moved freely through here as well. While some sorcerers liked to use a small bit of their magic to keep their homes partially lit at night, the Master scorned such practice as a waste of his energy. Thus, his candle's small halo was once again the only guide he had as he traversed the narrow corridors from the servants' quarters to the main part of the manor. Thankfully his feet knew the way well, and they moved forward with only minor hesitation.

By the time he reached the door of the Master's study, he was sweating, not from exertion but from the press of magic that had thickened into an almost impenetrable wall. He could almost see it lingering in the air. There was a shimmer and a crackle to it that made his teeth and fingernails tingle and all the hairs on his body stand on end. His initial fear that had been eased by the candle's glow had returned, and as he stood gazing at the closed door, he could feel it coiling and squirming in his gut. It was the Lord's magic the man was using this evening. He knew because while the Lady's magic brought with it a kind of peace, the Lord's always brought nameless terror. Many years ago, on the first night he had felt it, he had turned tail and fled back to his room to cower beneath the sheets. Now, however, he was used to it, and so he stood there steadily, determined to fulfill his duties.

Carefully, he placed his ear against the wood and listened for any sound that would indicate that the Master was in the middle of spell. Hearing nothing, he pulled back and took a moment to simply breathe. If the Master was not yet chanting, this magic that danced around him must have only been for the preparations. The thought made him shiver. Never in all the years that he had worked for the man had he felt magic so strong, and it was only about to become stronger. A sense of urgency surged up within him; he needed to get back to his own room and the safety of his bed before this spell came to life.

Swallowing his hesitation, he lifted his hand to the door and rapped softly against the wood with his knuckles. When no one answered him immediately, he pressed his cheek against the door and called through the crack.

"Master? It's Peter. Do you need anything?" He paused briefly for a response and, when none came, tried, "Tea, perhaps? Something to warm you, Master?"

Finally, a sound filtered through the crack to his ears, the noise of something shuffling. A moment later, the deep voice of his Master voice spoke to him. "No, Peter, I am fine. Please leave me in peace."

His breath, unconsciously held in his lungs as he waited, released in a short rush. Gratefully, he turned away from the door and quickly walked down the hall back in the direction of his room. He had done his duty as his blood pressed him to do. Now, all he wanted was to return to his bed and hide beneath his blankets until the living darkness dispersed before the insistent rays of the morning sun. Whatever devilry the Master was planning this evening was none of his business. It was not his place to question, only to serve.

Throughout his walk back to his room, only his own candle provided any relief to the all-encompassing darkness, but as he turned the final corner and entered the servants' quarters, a second halo of light greeted him from a few feet away. The face that hovered within this halo turned to regard him, tired and wary.

"Clarabell," he said, surprised. "Why are you out of bed?"

"For the same reason as you, I expect," the woman returned. She frowned heavily and looked about as if searching for something. "What is this foul taste to the air? I do not like it."

"It's the Master," he answered, stepping closer so that they could share their light with each other. "He's working tonight."

Clarabell seemed horrified by the thought. "Working?" she asked. "The Master works at this hour of the night?"

"Yes," he answered easily. "This is when he prefers to work, actually."

Obviously unhappy, the woman pressed her thin lips together in an expression of severe disapproval. "Unacceptable," she hissed to herself. Straightening her spine, she glared in the direction from which he had just come. "I'm going to give him a piece of my mind," she announced and took a step forward.

"No!" he cried instantly and grabbed at her arm. "You mustn't! He will be furious if you interrupt him!"

She spun on her heel and unleashed her indignation upon him. "I worked at the castle for nigh on twenty years, and not once in all that time was I awoken in the middle of the night by such an evil presence as this! Almost twenty years, during which countless sorcerers came and went and the great Master Donald practiced his art daily. For any man, even a sorcerer, to work at such an hour as this and to bring such a dark omen upon his own house, I tell you Peter, it is unacceptable!"

A new fear was assaulting him, but this one had nothing to do with the magic that still hovered about them in the surrounding dark. "Clarabell, please!" he tried to soothe her. "Please listen. Working in the middle of the night is common for a sorcerer. It is the best time to harness the Lord's power. It is a dark power and brings out raw emotions from a man, but it is not an evil power. I imagine the sorcerers who came to visit the King did work at this hour but their spells were smaller than the one the Master is attempting tonight. And Master Donald is famous for using the Lady's power, not the Lord's. The styles of their magic are completely different."

Clarabell narrowed her eyes at him, unconvinced. Sighing, he hung his head and rubbed at his eyes a bit with his free hand. He was so very close to the safety and comfort of his room. He could see the door from where he stood. However, he knew that he could not simply walk away and leave Clarabell be. Unchecked, she would stomp her way over to the Master's study and confront him, and that could result in something horrible happening, especially considering the amount of magic that the man had already called into being. Determined to try yet again to convince the woman before him, he lifted his head and took a preparatory breath.

Before he could speak a word, a muted sound like the noise of a faraway explosion rumbled through the house. A second later, there was a scream that started off human-sounding but soon rose to demonic levels before it trailed off into an uneasy silence. Both servants stood frozen, staring off into the darkness that had in an instant gone from pressing to near-suffocating.

Clarabell moved first, a small shift and a frightened whisper. "Was that common, too, Peter?"

"No," he whispered back, the one word taking effort to utter as if it did not wish to be free of his tongue. His human instincts were screaming at him to run, not just to hide within his room but to run completely away from this house and the power within it. His blood, however, was urging him to move towards the source of those noises. If they meant what he feared, then it was very likely that his Master needed him. Even if he could do nothing, the mere thought of his Master in need was making his soul ache to go to him.

The first step felt like pulling his foot from a deep clinging mud, the very floor seeming to resist his effort to move his leg to a new position. Once he had taken a single step forward, however, the gate to his resolve crashed open, and within seconds, he was running down the hallway as quickly as he could with Clarabell on his heels. The manor was eerily quiet as they ran. Their footsteps did not echo but disappeared into a darkness that seemed to swallow the noise down thirstily. The magic that he had felt before still lingered in the air, but it was quieter than before, almost as if it was watching him from the darkness, waiting. The sensation would have terrified him beyond belief if he were not so focused on getting to the Master as quickly as possible.

The moment he turned the corner to the hall in which lay the Master's study, he ran full-force into a thick fog of what at first glance appeared to be smoke. Instinctively, he threw up one arm and leaned his body forward in order to fight his way through it, but after only a few steps, he paused in wonder. This smoke was like nothing he had ever seen before. It was not thick and heavy with soot like the smoke from a fire, nor was it warm and wet like steam. This smoke had no apparent weight or texture at all. If it were not for his eyes, he never would have known it was there. His eyes could definitely see it, however, as it curled and snaked around him, its color an odd purple-green that his candlelight could not pierce.

"Sweet Goddess, protect us," Clarabell murmured from behind him.

Silently, he added his prayer to hers and then pushed forward again. "Master!" he shouted as he approached the door. "Are you all right? Master!" When he reached it, he banged his fist against the wood and called out again, eyes falling to the crack near the ground. As he had expected, the smoke was coming from within the room, escaping underneath the door.

"Master!" he cried again. This time, he heard noises in answer to his call. Something within the room shuffled, and someone groaned softly. Eagerly, he gripped the handle of the door. The Master was still alive!

"Peter! Don't!" Clarabell shrilled, but he had already pulled. The door swung open. Instantly, he was engulfed by a wave of dark smoke that poured from the room. It stung his eyes and slithered down his throat with a cool, slimy feeling. The candle in his hand sputtered and died, plunging him into complete darkness. For several minutes, he could do nothing but cough and paw at his throat in a desperate attempt to breathe, but eventually he somehow found the strength to take a single step into the room.

"Master?" he called weakly. "Master, are you there?"

The groan answered him again, but this time, he heard another sound. Even as the voice of the sorcerer died away, a second voice was rising, chuckling softly with an evil mirth. It shivered up his spine and made his hair stand on end for a reason that had nothing to do with the magic hovering all about him.

"Master?" he whispered, voice cracking. At the pathetic sound, he cleared his throat roughly and straightened up, determined to be brave. "Master?" he tried again. "Can you hear me? Can you answer me? Master?"

The chuckling stopped, and there was nothing but cold, terrible silence.

"Master Xehanort?"

Something large, heavy, and full of malice rushed him, and the last thing he heard was his own scream as it rose, higher and higher, thinning and twisting into something animalistic and utterly inhuman.


	2. The Dark Mother

**The Saga of the Seven Espers: Prologue**

**Description: **Every story has a beginning. It began with a war. It began with a spell. It began with a birth, with a death, with a dream, with a nightmare. Every story has a beginning. This is how this story began.

**Disclaimer: **All characters are the property of Square-Enix and/or Disney.

* * *

**The Dark Mother**

_First, the lady, darkness mother  
Wicked beauty touched by sin  
Doomed by husband, son, and brother  
Jealous battles, war within_

xXx

_???? A.T._

The pain gripped her mercilessly, squeezing her abdomen with fiery fingers. Tears of exhaustion and desperation clouded her eyes as she panted lightly through a throat hoarse with screaming. The young woman behind her pulled a few sweat-soaked strands of hair from her flushed face and rubbed her back soothingly, but the comfort the helpful soul offered was nothing compared to the relief of finally being able to bear down.

"Good, my Lady, good," the midwife between her spread legs encouraged. "You're doing just fine. When the pain comes again, push some more for me."

She nodded and waited for the pain to surge once more to unbearable levels. When it did, she pushed with all the strength she had remaining and willed the infant within her womb to descend. Slowly, the weight shifted, and she felt the pressure of the baby move. Two more contractions, and the child had slid far enough for her to feel him between her legs.

"There's the head, my Lady! Just a little more. Let's get those little shoulders through."

Only minutes later, the child's cry split the air, and she fell back against the girl behind her in exhaustion as she felt the weight slide from her body completely. Cooing comfortingly to both her and the howling child, the midwife produced a knife from her apron pocket to cut the cord. A second helper took the baby from her once she had finished and began to clean the blood as the older woman tended to the mother. Sleep beckoned and enticed her now that the ordeal was over, but she fought it away. Instead, she watched the midwife's assistant with half-lidded eyes and a gentle smile, lovingly gazing at the wrinkled, crying face of her new son.

Moving from his previous spot in a far-off corner, a dark-clothed figure slowly approached. He had stayed out of the way during the birth, but now he walked up to the young girl holding the baby and presented a clean blanket to her.

"Wrap him in this," he ordered.

The girl looked up at him with terrified eyes, but did as she was told. When she had finished, she handed the child to him and skittered away to join the other women. The man stared impassively at the baby for a moment, then rose glittering green eyes to gaze at the mother.

"Thank you," he said.

She smiled sadly at him. "You're welcome."

The midwife, who had been frowning heavily since the moment the man approached, suddenly rose to her feet and turned on him. "My Lord," she said sharply, "I must protest! The Lady has give you three fine sons already. This one is the fourth. And yet again you take him from her before she even has the chance to hold him! I cannot stand to see such cruelty against her!"

"Mira," the mother chastised gently, sitting up and lifting a hand to touch the woman on the arm, "please stop. This is how it has to be. This is the deal we made centuries ago."

The woman turned to regard her, deep sympathy in her disapproving expression. "But still," she protested again, "it is too unfair. To take them all, to not let you have even one. And then to never see them again, to not even be allowed to hold them! I cannot bear to see it, Lady! I cannot!"

"Mira," the Lady smiled, and the midwife stilled. Gently, she ran her hand along the woman's arm, down to the end to lace their fingers together. "Thank you," she said softly. "Thank you for being so kind to me and for caring about me. I am sorry that I must cause you this pain." She rose to her feet, the wounds and pain from the recent birth already healed. Lovingly, she leaned down and placed a kiss on the midwife's forehead, but the woman did not respond. Her eyes were blank and distant, her body rigid. "Return to your rest, now," the Lady whispered, and the woman's body began to fade. The two girls had already disappeared. "Return with my love and gratitude."

When the soul of the midwife had vanished and returned to her rest, the Lady turned to the Lord and offered him a gentle smile. "I apologize."

"Do not," he returned immediately, "for she speaks the truth. It is cruel to force this upon you, as I well know."

She turned away and clasped her hands behind her back. "It is how it must be," she repeated.

"It is," he agreed. He stepped up beside her, careful not to tread on any of the flowers that overran her realm, and gazed out into the white nothingness with her. "I am afraid, Aerith, that I must be crueler still."

She winced slightly but otherwise made no sign that his words had affected her. "Must you?" she asked lightly. "How so?"

At first, he did not respond. Then, he turned and presented the now-sleeping child. "Take him," he ordered. "Hold him."

She lifted surprised eyes to his handsome face. "Are you sure?" she asked. "The last time we spoke, you told me that Loz still has not recovered, even after all these years."

"He has not," he confirmed with a severe expression, "but I allowed you to nurse Loz briefly and I firmly believe that is why he still longs for you. I do not think that holding this child for a few precious moments will cause him to cry for you even after he is grown the way our eldest does." Sternly, he offered the child again and demanded, "Take him."

This time, she did as she had been ordered, gently taking the infant in her arms and cradling him to her chest. The small boy stirred in his sleep but did not wake. She longed to kiss him but dared not, knowing that every touch she bestowed would make it harder for the child to forget her. Instead, she contented herself with memorizing his every feature, from his small clutching fingers to his tiny turned-up nose to the fine covering of silver hair that was already growing from his head. "What will you name him?" she asked the man beside her.

"You must name him," he answered without looking at her.

Once again surprised, she turned her eyes to him and inspected his sharp profile. When he refused to acknowledge her or wear any expression, she frowned at him and sighed. "Sephiroth, I do not understand. Why are you allowing me these things? Why are you allowing me to hold him? To name him?"

"Because," he answered after a moment, "he will be the last."

Sadness descended upon her, and she gazed once more at the child. "I see," she said softly. "So four is enough for you."

"Yes."

"And that means, I suppose, that you will no longer visit me."

"No." His eyes shifted to the side, and he took in her sad expression. "Why does that upset you?" he asked. "I only visit to lie with you and then to take the child once he is born. Surely it will be a blessing to no longer have me invade your realm and cause you pain."

"No," she replied with a small smile. "It will not be a blessing. For I will miss you, Sephiroth. You and I are the last of our kind. So much has happened in the past that there will never be love between us, yet I feel a bond with you that I feel with no other. Your visits may have caused me pain, but I looked forward to them. To know that once you leave me this time I will never see you again, that is indeed a pain I had not expected."

Sephiroth hung his head slightly, silver hair spilling forward to hide his face from her view. "I will never love you, Aerith," he told her, "but in spite of the never-ending urging of my mother, I have never been able to find it within myself to hate you either. You are right. There is something that binds us together and connects us even though we cannot exist within the same sphere for more than a few hours. My resolve is firm and will never waver, but I know that there will be times in the coming centuries when I will think upon you and wonder if you are well. And the knowledge that you will think of me and miss me is … comforting in some small way."

She did not reply but continued to watch the infant in her arms. His small eyes had yet to open for her, but when they did, she knew they would be as beautifully green as his father's.

"Riku," she said suddenly.

Sephiroth lifted his head and turned to her. "What?"

"His name," she explained, giggling slightly. "I name him Riku."

Immediately, Sephiroth pinched the bridge of his nose and groaned softly. His reaction did not surprise her in the slightest. "Don't you like it?" she teased.

"Mother is going to be livid," he replied, pained. "Her youngest grandchild named in the ancient tongue like some fairy child. I will never hear the end of it."

"I think it is rather appropriate for the child of the Lady Goddess of the Earth."

"It is appropriate, too appropriate, but Aerith …" Dropping his hand, he turned his eyes to her with an expression of appeal. "… must you?"

The laughter slowly dropped away from her lips as she gazed back at him, and gently, her heart stirred. She did not love him, not in the way that her mother had so completely loved her father, but she did care for him. He was strict and he was severe, but in spite of what the mortals of the physical world might think, he was not evil. Had their world not been torn apart as it had, she might have been wed to him and lived alongside him with their children, to care for them and watch them grow into men like the mother of a real family. That dream, however, had been destroyed by their quarreling parents, and so she was left with moments like these, moments that would last her for her entire existence.

Turning fully to face him, she declared, "I will change it, but only for you. If you disapprove, my Lord, I shall give him a new name. Otherwise, he will keep the name his mother has given him."

Sephiroth gazed at her for a moment, searching her set expression for any weakness. She gazed back, patiently waiting. When his lips began to turn up into a small smile, she knew how he would answer.

"I do not disapprove. Riku he shall be." Taking a step closer, he encased both her and their child in his arms. She gratefully accepted the invitation and rested her head against his shoulder. "Mother will simply have to learn to accept it," he continued conversationally. "She already disapproves of the other three for the simple fact that they are yours. This is hardly an offense worth considering."

She smiled against his shoulder with closed eyes, enjoying for just a moment the peaceful feeling of what could have been. In the long and lonely years to come, the memory of this moment would surely be of great comfort to her, so she was determined to make it last as long as possible. The man who held her seemed to realize this as well, for he lingered on in the embrace, far longer than she expected him to do so. When he finally shifted and pulled away, he finished by placing a soft kiss on the top of her head before removing Riku from her unresisting arms.

"Farewell, Aerith," he said in a low and intimate tone.

"Farewell, Sephiroth," she returned similarly. "May you and our sons find happiness."

"May you find the same," he finished, stepping backwards away from her. Behind him, the dark gate to his own realm had already appeared, and with a motion of his hand, it opened to reveal the cold, stone hallways of the Underworld. She watched with clasped hands before her as Sephiroth turned and strode through the gateway, never once looking back. Once he had passed through, the gates creaked shut and quickly faded away, leaving her alone in her brightly-lit field of flowers.

For several minutes after he and their child had disappeared, she stood there with her eyes closed and her head bowed. The tears gently ran down her cheeks, unchecked. When they stopped, however, she lifted her head, wiped away the remaining dampness with one hand, and smiled. Then, she turned and leisurely walked away.


	3. The Prideful Hero

**The Saga of the Seven Espers: Prologue**

**Description: **Every story has a beginning. It began with a war. It began with a spell. It began with a birth, with a death, with a dream, with a nightmare. Every story has a beginning. This is how this story began.

**Disclaimer: **All characters are the property of Square-Enix and/or Disney.

* * *

**The Prideful Hero**

_Next the hero, spirit glowing  
Friend and wife, by both betrayed  
Biding time, his anger growing  
Pride and honor, trust remade_

xXx

_1729 M.T._

Just inside the town's main entrance, the dark-haired soldier paused and inhaled deeply. The mountain air always felt so clean and crisp. At this time of year, unfortunately, it was also bitingly cold. Thankfully, the army had been through here enough times on its way into enemy country that the boy who had grown up in the jungle heat to the south had become accustomed to it. Pulling his collar a little higher on his neck, he stamped some loose snow off of his boots and strode forward with a smile.

The house he sought was small and plain, one of several that arced around an old well in a half-circle. Unlike some of its neighbors, this house had a front path completely clean of snow and a generous stack of cut firewood piled neatly by the front door. The sight of such tidiness made him grin; he knew exactly who had done all of that work and he knew why. Feeling pleased that he would be able to offer the boy a reprieve, if only for a few hours, he walked up to the path and knocked on the door.

The woman who answered was quite lovely in spite of her advancing age. The smile that had initially graced her face, however, disappeared at once upon seeing the soldier on her doorstep.

"Good morning, Mrs. Strife," he said graciously, giving her a polite bow. "Is your son at home?"

"What do you want with him?" she asked, eyes narrowing even further. Her expression and bearing spoke of nothing but suspicion and distrust, and she seemed ready to shut the door in his face if she did not like his answer.

Taking a slow breath of preparation, he smiled even more pleasantly and assembled his reply, but he was spared from voicing it by the sound of feet clattering down the stairs from the upper floor. A moment later, a skinny, blond teenager appeared in the hallway behind his mother, smiling like the sun.

"Zack!" he cried happily. He looked as if only the woman blocking the doorway was keeping him from tackling the soldier with joy.

"Hi, kid," the older teenager grinned over Mrs. Strife's shoulder. "Good to see you again."

"Yeah!" the younger agreed. "Why are you here?" he asked next. "Are you on leave?"

"Of a sort," the soldier replied with a shrug. "So I thought I'd come visit you."

The blond's mother huffed and crossed her arms over her chest, releasing her hold on the door but not moving aside. "If my son were in the army," she stated disapprovingly, "I would hope that he would use his leave to visit his mother, not to call on young boys he has no business associating with."

"Mother …" the boy protested, but the soldier interrupted him with a respectful nod and explanation to the woman.

"Were I on proper leave, I assure you, Mrs. Strife, that I would have gone home to visit my parents. Unfortunately, I was not given leave so much as permission to advance before the main body of the army. They will be coming through here in approximately two days from now. That is not nearly enough time for me to go home and return. Therefore, I decided to use my time to visit my friend Cloud, whom I have not seen for over a year." He paused to offer Cloud a small smile before returning his attention to the boy's formidable mother. "If he has your permission, I would like to spend a couple of hours with him this morning, talking and catching up with each other."

The woman frowned heavily, and her eyes bored into him, as if searching for any reason to deny his request. After a good minute, however, she sighed and stepped aside. "Fine," she said, clearly still reluctant, "but I will not have soldiers in my house. Wait here and Cloud will be out in a moment." She closed the door before he could thank her.

When Cloud emerged from the house several minutes later, he was wearing enough protective clothing for two or three boys his size. The soldier politely held his tongue and led the way back into the heart of town. The instant they turned the corner that hid the house from sight, Cloud shed half of what he was wearing, stuffing the extra garments into a neighbor's toolshed and making his companion laugh. No longer looking like a giant moogle of the fabled fairy kingdom, the younger boy grinned and continued on, now leading the way instead of following.

After Cloud confirmed that the other was not hungry enough to stop at the inn, the two friends headed to the base of the nearby mountains. Only a short climb above sat a small cave, a favorite of the native boy and a place he had shown the visiting soldier before. Once they arrived, the older of the two removed his weapon and settled down away from the wind and the worst of the cold while the younger busied himself trying to start a small fire to give them some extra warmth. They had talked of inconsequential things the entire time, silently agreeing to save the important topics for when they were alone.

"So," the dark-haired teenager began as the beginnings of the fire took hold, "it appears that your mother's opinion of me has not changed."

The blond grimaced and sat back on his heels. "No," he admitted sadly, "it hasn't. She still thinks you have some secret plan to abduct me and force me to join the army." The firelight flickered across his face and accentuated the emotions in his blue eyes.

"Have you told her yet that you want to join of your own free will?"

"No." He turned his head and gazed out the mouth of the cave, eyes unseeing. "She doesn't understand me. She never has."

Seeing that open sadness in his friend's face made the soldier's heart ache. He had never dealt well with sadness, all his life preferring to face troubles with a cheerful attitude rather than an unhappy one. Kicking out a leg, he nudged the other in the knee with his foot and said brightly, "I brought something that I thought you'd like to see. Want to know what it is?" At Cloud's instant nod, he grinned, reached beside him, and hauled his sword into the firelight. "Look!" he announced happily. "Look what the generals finally decided to give me!"

Cloud bent over the weapon slightly, at first uncertain as to why it was so special, but the moment his gaze fell on the black stone embedded in the steel near the hilt, his eyes widened and his jaw went slack in surprise. "Is that Magicite?" he asked in an appreciative whisper.

"It sure is," the other replied, trying not to preen too much. "I finally got myself a Magicite weapon. I'm a full-fledged elite now!"

"Wow," the blond whispered, face shining with child-like wonder. "That's amazing, Zack! Congratulations!"

"Thank you! Ah ah ah … !" Suddenly nervous, he reached out and snatched Cloud's hand which had been about to run its fingers over the stone. "I wouldn't do that," he warned. "I don't know if just touching it will hurt you, but it's better not to take any risks. This one in particular has already eaten four people."

A flicker of fear crossed the younger boy's face, and he sat back immediately, curling his hands into his lap. When his expressive eyes fell upon the weapon again, they shone with anxiety as well as awe. "Have you … you know … tried to manifest it yet?" he asked in a low voice.

"No," the elder answered, running his hand down the short hilt. "Actually, I have no intention of ever trying," he admitted with a slightly sheepish grin.

"You don't? But isn't that why the generals give people Magicite weapons? So that the elite can figure out which Esper is inside and what their powers are?"

"Well, yes, but …" He shrugged and lowered his voice conspiratorially. "I really don't feel like putting myself at risk just so some dumb old sorcerers can put a name and an element to a stupid stone. Just having it in the sword makes me a lot stronger than I was, and that's enough for me." He leaned back against the wall and stared down at the stone, its black surface glittering in the firelight. "There's no way I'm letting one of those things eat me, that's for sure.

Cloud laughed softly for a moment, then looked up at him with obvious hero-worship in his eyes. "You wouldn't get eaten, Zack. You're way too strong for that."

A sudden warmth surged through him at the younger boy's words. Scratching the back of his head in mild embarrassment, he grinned and replied, "Well, maybe I am, but I still don't think I'll take the risk. Besides," he added, "maybe if I leave him alone and don't try to force him to talk, the Esper will decide he likes me and take the initiative. And like I said, even if he doesn't, I'm happy just being an elite. I certainly worked hard enough to get here."

Cloud did not reply. His eyes were distant once again. Something hard and determined glinted in them as he gazed down at the sword that lay between the two friends. "I'm going to be an elite, too," he swore in a quiet, even voice. "Someday. I'm going to be one, too."

The soldier hid a wince. Trying to brush the seriousness in the air aside, he grinned and said lightly, "Of course you will, kid. Just work hard, and you'll get there."

His attitude, however, did not go unnoticed by his blond companion. Frowning, he lifted his eyes and insisted, "I will. Do you remember three years ago when you first came here looking for a guide to take a scouting party over the mountains? I swore to you then that I would join the army and fight beside you. Do you remember?"

"Yeah," the other replied, falling into seriousness. "I remember."

"I was twelve then," Cloud continued. "You were fifteen and had already been in the army for a year. Now, here I am, the same age now as you were then, and I'm still living in this Goddess-forsaken town, still living with my mother who is determined to keep me from ever seeing the capital much less enlisting in their army."

"Cloud …" the older teenager began, wanting to stop the cycle of self-loathing before it began, but his friend cut him off before he could say more.

"Even so," he stated with unusual strength, "I _will_ fight alongside you one day. I'm not going to give up. I'm going to join the army, and I'm going to work my way up to an elite the same way you have. And if you become a general some day, I won't stop until I am one as well. However far you go, Zack, I will follow you. You may not feel the same way about me, but you are my best friend, my only true friend. I _will_ follow you, no matter how long it takes."

The eighteen-year-old soldier, country boy by birth and elite warrior by effort, bit his lip and looked away, trying hard not to let his emotions show through. Cloud's admiration and determination had touched him deeply, but he couldn't help but feel worried for the younger boy before him. Living in a small town without a father had given the blond a decent amount of lean muscle and an ability to work without complaint, but Cloud was still small for a young man his age, his body thin and almost feminine in its build. He would make the army, that the more experienced soldier knew, but he would go no further. Boys like Cloud did not become elites. Boys like Cloud became corpses on the battlefield, gazing up at the sky with empty eyes and fading whispers for their homelands on their lips.

Choosing his words extremely carefully, the dark-haired teenager replied, "You're right, Cloud, in that I cannot call you my best friend. However, I do consider you to be a great friend, one that I cherish very much." His gaze, which he had previously averted, swung back to meet the deeply blue eyes of the one across from him, and he stated, "I believe in you. If your wish is to follow me and climb the ranks as I have, then I will wait for you. We will fight together someday, I swear it." What went unsaid was the promise that when Cloud did finally join the army, he would protect him in every and any way that he could.

Cloud replied with a dazzling smile that successfully erased all of the dark mood that had descended upon them. For the rest of their time together, they chatted of simpler things, told jokes, and laughed like age-old friends. They did not leave the cave until the fire had died down to the point where even a flicker could not be seen either on the surface of the quietly waiting stone or in the depths of a pair of expressive blue eyes.


	4. The Shining Warrior

**The Saga of the Seven Espers: Prologue**

**Description: **Every story has a beginning. It began with a war. It began with a spell. It began with a birth, with a death, with a dream, with a nightmare. Every story has a beginning. This is how this story began.

**Disclaimer: **All characters are the property of Square-Enix and/or Disney.

* * *

**The Shining Warrior**

_Third, the silent warrior, shining  
Wings outstretched and reaching claws  
Sister's fate with his entwining  
Hope of love, the demons pause_

xXx

_1725 M.T._

Fury consumed him as he listened to the latest report, given by the so-called leader of the group of utter idiots with whom he had been cursed. Next to him, the king and his son were nodding their heads like the fools they were, neither of them understanding what a complete waste of his valuable time this was. Thin, pale hands clenched upon the tabletop in frustration, and the moment the chief idiot paused for breath, he let his disappointment be known in no uncertain terms.

"This is irrelevant!" he screeched at the man who stood there so calmly and respectively. "Where is my specimen? You were not sent on some damned addle-pated scouting mission. You were sent to procure me a specimen! Where is it?"

The infernal man bowed to him, all politeness and honeyed words. "I apologize, Master Hojo, but we were unable to procure a specimen for you. The security proved to be too much for us."

"Security nothing," the red-headed one whispered to the man next to him, believing that no one could hear. "Those damned kids are their own security." The bald man next to him shushed him gently.

His anger at the bunch of fools grew at this news. "Are you incompetent as well as stupid?" he demanded of that face that never changed no matter how much abuse he threw at it. "I did not ask you to bring me all of them, just one! Just a single one! Aren't there two females? Why did you not grab one of them?"

"With all due respect, Master," the slimy prince spoke up in defense of his prized spy and assassin, "you of all people should know that gender means nothing when it comes to magic. If these children were merely physically strong, going after one of the females would be a good idea, but that is not the case. And …" he added with a little smirk to himself, "… if that were the case, we would not be so interested in them, now would we?"

Gnashing his teeth, the sorcerer looked down at the notes he had assembled on the targets and quickly searched for another reason to be angry at these men for returning empty-handed. "What about this blond idiot, then?" he countered. "The one merged with a lightning Esper who accidentally attacked his own men? Why couldn't you acquire him for me?"

"Ah, yes," the leader spoke, sounding condescending to the sorcerer's ears. "We attempted to secure him but found to our disappointment that he has since learned how to control his powers. He is now just as deadly as the others."

"Pfft, to our disappointment?" the red-head remarked quietly again. "How about 'to our electrocuted arses'? That sounds more appropriate."

"Tseng," the king spoke for the first time, addressing the dark-haired man in the lead, "are you telling us that the Turks are unable to subdue and capture one of these children using only their own forces?"

Tseng bowed to his liege, apologies evident on his handsome face. "I regret it greatly, but that is exactly what I am saying, Your Majesty. Having faced them several times now, I believe that our one and only chance to capture one was when they were still too small to understand their own powers. Had we known about them when they were mere infants and had the sorceress's location been easier to find, we would have had no trouble. Unfortunately, now that they are all at least a decade old, they are more than capable of defending themselves and will soon, in my opinion, each individually be more than a match for all of the Turks combined."

"What do you suggest then?"

"Respectfully, Your Majesty, I suggest an attack by the main army in order to create confusion and distraction. With the bulk of their attention focused on repelling the invasion, the enemy will not notice my Turks slip in behind them and create a front from the rear. The double assault will weaken the enemy, and the surprise will cause them to panic and make mistakes. We will take advantage of that, capture one of the targets, and quickly withdraw."

"Yeah, let the common riffraff get scorched this time instead of us."

"Reno!" Tseng bit, snapping his dark eyes over to the red-head.

"Sir!" Reno replied, his voice offering attention and respect even if his slouched stance did not.

"Hold your tongue or I will cut it out."

"Sir," Reno repeated, conveying compliance and apology with a single word. Beside him, the bald assassin shook his head slightly in resignation.

Mentally dismissing the whole lot of them as worthless idiots, the sorcerer leaned forward and clenched his fists upon the table. He was livid, truly beside himself with fury. The idea of war meant little to him except for the fact that he would once again have to wait for his specimen. Five years had already passed, and now he would have to wait even more. It infuriated him beyond words. For five years, his research had sat stagnant, never moving forward in spite of his sizable talent and effort. If only he could examine a complete specimen, even just for a few moments, he knew he would be able to replicate the process himself and finally, _finally_ succeed.

His angry thoughts were disturbed as the door to the king's conference room opened and his chief assistant stepped inside. Her timid gaze sought and found him immediately, and she hurried to his side with head slightly bowed. As she came, the sorcerer's attention shifted, not to her, but to a tall Turk who stood off to one side and had not spoken a word through the entire briefing. This Turk, the sorcerer had noticed, only seemed to react, only seemed to come alive, when his assistant was near. This time as well, the man's dark eyes had gone to her immediately, as if drawn by a spell, and had followed her without fail as she crossed the room to the sorcerer's side. This knowledge made the irritated man smirk to himself; it was always good to know the weaknesses of others.

"Master Hojo," his assistant murmured when she had neared him.

"What do you want, woman?" he snapped at her, making her jump and hang her head. She was a fairly capable sorceress in her own right, so he was rarely truly angry with her. However, he thoroughly enjoyed watching her reactions when he spoke to her unkindly and therefore did so whenever the opportunity presented itself. Watching the disapproval of the silent Turk was also a pleasant experience.

"Master," she said again, more meekly than before, "O-7 is reacting. I thought you should know."

He slammed his fist upon the table, this time too upset to notice the way she leapt and cowered. "_Damnation!_" he hissed. "Not another one."

"Is there a problem, Master Hojo?" the prince asked, concern oozing through his voice.

Quickly, the sorcerer schooled his expression into one of nonchalance and rose from his chair. "It is nothing you need concern yourself with, my Prince, I assure you. However, I am afraid that one of my experiments requires my attention so I must excuse myself."

The prince looked as if he wanted to press the matter further, but his father waved a hand imperially and cut him off. "If you are needed elsewhere, Master, then go. We will contact you at a later time to inform you of our new plans."

"Thank you, Your Majesty," the man replied, degrading himself with a small bow to continue to lull the old fool into security. Receiving another condescending wave, he grit his teeth to hold in his anger and strode out of the room, his assistant following at a respectful distance.

He traversed the castle hallways and descended the stairs to his basement quarters with as much speed as his aging legs would allow. By the time he reached it, the screams from the O-7 experiment were strong enough to be leaking slightly through the sound barrier he had erected to help hide his activities from the other inhabitants of the castle. He paused a moment to strengthen the barrier and then moved on into the back room where he kept his most important experiments.

In the center of this room sat a glass cage, formed in the shape of a cylinder and filled with a clear liquid that amplified magical energy. Suspended in this cage was his most prized experiment and the source of the screaming. The man had been an ordinary soldier, just one of hundreds that all looked the same to the sorcerer's eyes. As far as the army knew, he had died in a fire months ago. Bones had even been sent to the man's wife, and she had buried them thinking that they belonged to her husband. No one had ever suspected that he remained alive, although it appeared that was shortly to change.

Bursts of wild magic were exploding throughout the liquid within the cage, making it bubble and churn. More bubbles rose from the man's mouth as he screamed in pain and terror, and his spasming, flailing limbs disturbed the calm even more. The sorcerer could barely make out the man's face through the mess, although when he did he could clearly see the tell-tale light shining from his eyes.

"Damnation," he hissed again. Then, he tapped sharply against the glass and shouted, "Don't just die, you fool! Give me his information first!"

Within the glass, the man regained enough control of himself to stop screaming. He stared out at the sorcerer with glowing red eyes. "He … he …"

"I know he's a male, you thrice-damned idiot! Tell me something else! His history! His powers! His strengths! His weaknesses! Tell me something that will determine whether he is one of the seven or not!" Growling, he splayed his hands against the glass and near-screamed, "The Lord of Darkness damn you if you die as worthless as the previous six! Tell me his name at least, you pathetic dog!"

The man within the magical liquid trembled, his body beginning to convulse. "K … k …" he stuttered. Slowly, he sank to his knees, glowing eyes gazing upwards to the ceiling. "… a …" One hand rose to the black stone that rested partially within his chest. Its surface was surging with red light, tendrils of which were rapidly shooting from it and encasing every inch of the dying man. A particularly large tendril rose upwards and began to wrap itself around his throat. " … ossss …" he whispered just as the invasive touch covered his lips and continued on until only his eyes were visible. Those eyes shone out in pain and sorrow for the span of only a heartbeat. Then, they were gone, the light extinguished itself, and only the black stone remained, floating calmly at eye-level within the glass cylinder.

The sorcerer stared it down, a smug smile fixed firmly on his face. "Chaos," he said. "Your name is Chaos."

A mocking laugh rang through his head as the stone bobbed slowly up and down. "_What if it is?_" a grating voice asked within his mind. "_My name will tell you nothing, sorcerer._"

"Perhaps not," he conceded, eyeing the stone carefully, wary of attacks, "but it is progress. I will break you one day. You _will_ submit to me."

The Esper said nothing, only laughed before falling silent once more. Satisfied that the stone had fallen dormant, the sorcerer turned away and wandered back into the main part of his quarters. His assistant waited for him, her cheeks looking slightly damp as if she had hastily wiped away tears before his entrance. Ignoring her, he crossed to his desk and began to shuffle through papers, looking for an adequate specimen to begin experiment O-8. These soldiers that he had used the past four times certainly lasted longer than the commoners he had abducted for the first three, but they still were not producing the results he wanted. He would have to find someone with a stronger will, someone with a sharp and firm mind.

His assistant's dress rustled softly as she passed by him, distracting him for a moment. He half-turned to snap at her for the interruption, but stopped as an idea slowly came to him. Images of dark eyes and a stoic expression filtered into his mind. Normally, he would have extreme difficulty acquiring one such as him, but if they were to go to war as Tseng had suggested, he might be able to find an opportunity that would otherwise be unavailable to him. Even better, he knew and controlled the man's ultimate weakness.

Grinning evilly to himself, the sorcerer turned back to his desk and began to plan.


	5. The Steady Friend

**The Saga of the Seven Espers: Prologue**

**Description: **Every story has a beginning. It began with a war. It began with a spell. It began with a birth, with a death, with a dream, with a nightmare. Every story has a beginning. This is how this story began.

**Disclaimer: **All characters are the property of Square-Enix and/or Disney.

* * *

**The Steady Friend**

_Fourth, the faithful, steady-hearted  
On love's altar, sacrifice  
Once regained, friends never parted  
Stoic patience, sound advice_

xXx

_1715 M.T._

The king had always known that Odine would blow himself up one day, but when it happened, it still surprised him tremendously. The resulting fireball had woken up the entire village that surrounded the castle, commoner and royal alike rushing to their windows to watch in awe as the night sky lit up like mid-day. Thankfully, the barely-sane sorcerer lived alone in the woods, so after sending out a quick scouting party to ensure that none of the houses closest to the blast had been harmed, the king returned to his bed, resolving to investigate the matter the following day.

He was awoken again not an hour later by the sound of crying. Confused, he opened his eyes and sat up in bed to find his little daughter standing beside him, tears running down her young face. She wore only her thin white nightdress, and her hair was rumpled from sleep. Sniffling quietly, she gazed at him with wide, innocent eyes, but they were glazed and distant, as if she was not seeing him but something else entirely.

"Ellone," he murmured to her, concerned, "what's the matter, my darling? Why are you crying?" He reached out a hand and petted her hair gently.

"He's hurt," the child whimpered. "He's hurt, Papa."

The miserable, fragile sound made his heart ache. Carefully, he took hold of his little girl and lifted her onto the bed and into his lap. Cradling her small frame against him, he asked, "Did your dreams frighten you, darling?" When she whimpered again and curled into him, he resumed petting her head and murmured, "My poor little thing. It's all right. Papa will protect you."

"He's hurt," she said again, her voice muffled by his chest.

"Who's hurt, my love?"

"Squall."

The name shot through him like an arrow, piercing him with sudden pain and freezing him with shock. In an instant, his own eyes were pricking and burning with unshed tears. He clutched his daughter closer to him and buried his face into her unkempt hair. "Ellone," he whispered, voice cracking, "it was only a dream. Squall is with the Goddess. He and your mother will never hurt again."

The princess shook her head against him, adding to his pain. "No," she insisted with childish stubbornness, "he's not. He's hurt and he's afraid. He's crying, Papa. You have to help him. You have to do something, Papa!"

"Ellone," he choked out, but he could say no more. How could he tell her that her mother and baby brother had both died over a month ago? How could he admit to her that he blamed himself for it? If he had stayed at home instead of traveling around his country like the young fool he was, he would have been there when the Queen's carriage was attacked by thieves. He would have been able to protect both her and their infant son from the terrible death that befell them, a fiery death so horrible that only his wife's bones had returned for burial and the baby had not been found at all. When he had discovered what had happened in his absence, he had nearly gone mad with grief, and only the knowledge that his little princess, barely four years old, needed him had kept him from succumbing.

A soft knock on his bedroom door pulled the king from his misery before it could consume him once again. Startled, he snapped his head up and wiped the tears from his eyes. On another night, he might have snapped at the interruption, but this evening he was grateful for it. Putting on a fake cheerfulness that would soon enough become real, he bade his visitor enter, gently rearranging Ellone in his arms so that he could stand.

The dark-skinned man who entered immediately dropped his gaze and fell onto one knee, knowing full well that disturbing his monarch at this time of night was a terrible imposition. The man's long hair, normally bound in several intricate braids, was loose, and his clothes were slightly rumpled as if they had been thrown on in haste.

"Your Majesty," he said in a low voice, thicker than normal with the lingering effects of sleep, "I apologize for waking you."

"You did not wake me, Kiros," the king replied kindly to his chief advisor. He walked around the bed to stand before the other and ordered, "Stand up and tell me why you are here."

Rising to his feet as bidden, Kiros acknowledged the princess with a tip of his head, then fixed his steady gaze on the king. "We are receiving reports of strange noises emanating from the location of the earlier explosion. The people who live nearby are frightened and have sent emissaries to request that the guards investigate at once."

"Noises? What kind?"

"The emissaries described it as a strange howling and screaming. They fear it to be demons."

The king sighed and shook his head tiredly. How very like that madman Odine to die and leave a mess of demons for his men to exorcise. On the one hand, he felt rather annoyed that the matter could not wait until he had slept for a few more hours, but on the other hand, dealing with it would allow him to forget the sorrow that his daughter's nightmare had brought. "Very well," he said, making his decision. "Take Princess Ellone back to her chambers and then tell Captain Ward to take some of his men and go ahead. You and I will follow as soon as I have prepared myself."

The advisor hesitated, shifting slightly on his feet as his eyes strayed to the little girl in his monarch's arms. "Are you sure that is wise, Majesty?" he asked carefully. "There is no need to endanger yourself should these demons prove to be overly strong."

"I am sure," the king replied with a youthful grin. He pushed Ellone into Kiros's arms, forcing the other man to take her or let her fall to the ground. "It has been too long since I fought something as interesting as demons," he remarked, turning away to find some suitable clothing. "Surely you are not suggesting that I cannot handle myself in battle."

Kiros's response was immediate. "No, Your Majesty, of course not. My apologies." He bowed as lowly as the girl in his arms would allow and quickly took his leave, closing the bedroom door behind him.

By the time the king and his advisor had prepared, mounted, and ridden out to the forest where the sorcerer had until recently resided, the darkness of night was just beginning to recede before the encroaching light of dawn. A handful of early-rising birds scolded them vehemently as they turned from the regular road down a side path that would lead them to a small clearing. Unsurprisingly, they soon found that the clearing had tripled in size from the explosion and the house that had once stood in the middle of it was no longer to be seen. The king dismounted still a good distance from the center and strode over to the man who stood at attention with his small band of troops, waiting.

"Ward," the king said when he was within speaking distance, "report."

"Your Majesty," the captain replied with a quick bow. "Our initial search has found nothing of interest. We found a body that we assume belonged to the sorcerer and several Materia stones, but we have yet to find the source of …" He waved one giant hand in the air for a general indication. "… this."

Frowning heavily, the king crossed his arms before his chest and listened to the sounds that floated and twirled through the air all around him. It was most certainly crying, and in more than one voice. The noises tumbled over each other in disarray, building and falling and building once more. The cries were shrill, howling, unlike anything he had heard before. It was no wonder that the nearby people had been afraid, yet these strange sobs did not sound demonic to the king's ears. They almost sounded distorted as if created artificially.

As the king continued to contemplate the odd noises, Kiros stepped up to his side, an expression of deep contemplation on his face. "There is a spell at work here," the advisor stated in even tones. "More than one, I believe."

The king glanced at him with sharp eyes. "Can you break it?"

"I think so," the man answered with a short nod. He strode up to the nearest broken wall, lifted his hands to place them against where the wall previously stood, and concentrated with closed eyes. Several stones that rested in small pockets on his belt began to glow faintly.

While Kiros worked, the king approached the ruins and began to search through them with the captain on his heels. The entire house had been destroyed, and all of the furniture inside had been reduced to ashes and bits of charred wood. The only thing that seemed to be intact was the stone floor that ran the entire length of the house. Its presence confused the monarch, and he stared at it for several minutes. Why would Odine have bothered to create a floor of stone when the house itself was ordinary wood and thatch? It seemed quite foolish to the king to reinforce the floor and not do the same to the rest of the house, but then he supposed it only confirmed that Odine was irrevocably mad.

"Got it," Kiros whispered to himself, his hands momentarily glowing a particularly bright shade of blue. All at once, the crying that they had been hearing _changed_.

Several of the soldiers staggered and a few even fell. Ward clapped a hand over his mouth as if he were about to be ill. The king whirled on his heel and faced his advisor who had gone rigid in wide-eyed horror.

"Kiros!" he yelled. "Get that other spell broken! Now!"

"Y-y-yes, Your Majesty," the dark man whispered, and he threw his hands up once more, their palms instantly glowing in the man's frantic attempt to break the spell as quickly as possible.

The second the slightly-burned wooden door appeared in the floor, the king was on his knees, yanking on the handle to pull it open. It crashed sideways to reveal a flight of stairs leading down into a hidden basement. Ignoring the warnings of both his captain and his advisor, the king leapt down the stairs into its dark depths, only stopping when he realized that he could go no further without a light. The crying was much louder down here, its source only a few feet away.

"Kiros!" he called, the demand in his voice evident.

"Yes, Your Majesty!" A glow of magic, and the room burst into light, instantly making visible all of the dead sorcerer's many atrocities.

For several heartbeats, the three men could do nothing but stare. Then, Ward fell to the ground with a crash, and Kiros pressed himself against the wall in complete denial of what lay before them. "Oh, Goddess …" he whispered to himself, the glow of his magic faltering as his concentration crumbled. "Oh, sweet, sweet Goddess …"

The king said nothing. His face blank, he took three steady steps towards the nearest pen, reached down, and picked up the body that lay inside. The infant boy continued to scream, starving and terrified. All around him, the other children that lay trapped in other pens cried along with him. There were about a dozen cages, but from a quick scan of the room, the king could see that only six of the children were still alive. They were all younger than two years, some, like the boy in his arms, barely half a year, and all were naked, undernourished, and filthy. The dead man's worst atrocity, however, was not how neglected these children were. It was the fact that Kiros's stuttering magical ball of fire created glints of reflected light in each of them.

Each of these children had a black stone embedded within their small chests.

"Odine, you fiend," the king whispered. "What have you done?"


	6. The Sorrowful Husband

**The Saga of the Seven Espers: Prologue**

**Description: **Every story has a beginning. It began with a war. It began with a spell. It began with a birth, with a death, with a dream, with a nightmare. Every story has a beginning. This is how this story began.

**Disclaimer: **All characters are the property of Square-Enix and/or Disney.

* * *

**The Sorrowful Husband**

_Fifth, the husband, silent sorrow  
Fills the ocean, bitter tears  
Sends his son to rule tomorrow  
Puts his faith in coming years_

xXx

_1722 M.T._

Somehow, the three of them had managed to stay up long past the hour when all normal folk were asleep. It was probably, the youngest of them supposed as he leaned back in his chair, because Jecht had so many stories to tell and Braska was always so willing to listen. He and Braska had traveled for many days to visit their friend's home, and Jecht had taken his duty as host very seriously. The food had been excellent, the wine even more so, and the conversation had not flagged for a second. Even the rebellious attitude of Jecht's teenaged son had not dampened the trio's spirits, Braska going as far as to joke that that would be him and his daughter in ten years. This night, however, the young warrior, guardian protector for his country's finest sorcerer, was ready to excuse himself and retire.

With the thought of bed and sleep comfortably in his mind, he prepared a breath to speak, but before he could release it, a wave of magical pressure crashed over the house, shaking its foundations with a low rumbling noise. Startled, he clutched the armrests of his chair, riding out the tremors with rapidly mounting anxiety. Once the shaking had stopped and the house had once again fallen into quiet, he leapt to his feet and glanced about, all fatigue instantly gone.

"What was that?" he asked the most magically knowledgeable of their group.

Braska had risen the moment the wave had passed and crossed quickly to the window. Frowning with worry, he gazed out upon the town and the far-off castle. "I'm not sure," he responded.

"Sir!" a new voice, low and gruff, interrupted them. "Are you all right?"

Jecht's manservant had appeared in the doorway. The tall man wore the normal blank expression of an attendant waiting for orders, but the young guardian could see the anxiety sparking in the man's dark eyes.

"Yes, Kimahri," Jecht began, turning to him, "we're all --"

"A curse!" Braska suddenly shouted, surprising them all. "It's a curse, and it's coming this way." He pivoted away from the window and fished out a stick of chalk from his robe. As he dropped to his knees and began to mark the floor, the young warrior's heart clenched in a sudden fear. The three of them had encountered many curses before, most of which Braska had neutralized with a simple wave of his hand, but never had he seen anything, curse or otherwise, cause his friend and master to react with such volume or such urgency. He strode to the window to see for himself.

"We must move quickly," Braska said as he did so. "Someone must fetch young Tidus immediately!"

The tall man in the doorway was gone before either of the remaining men could speak. While Jecht paced restlessly, the young warrior gazed out the window in shock and horror. A great cloud of purple and green smoke had risen from a large manor on the other side of the town, and it was spreading rapidly to cover everything in sight. Even as he watched, its dark tendrils reached the royal castle and began to rise up the great white walls, spreading darkness over the entire structure. It was so unlike anything that he had seen before that he was stunned that Braska had been able to identify it as a curse. To him, it looked like a shapeless demon, come to devour all the light and life in the world.

"All those people," he whispered, gripping his sword even though he knew it could do nothing. "What's happening to them?"

"I don't know," Braska answered distractedly as he worked. "I've never seen a curse like that before. So large. So fast." His fingers flew across the floor, drawing intricate symbols with the crumbling chalk. "Get inside the circle quickly!" he ordered both men. "It'll be here any minute."

The younger man quickly complied, but Jecht turned and began taking several steps away from the circle and safety. "Kimahri! Hurry!" he yelled. His feet continued to move, towards the door and the stairs that led to the second floor.

The warrior's heart clenched again, this time with the knowledge of what was about to happen. Desperate to save the older man from himself, he dashed across the open space between them and grabbed onto his muscular arm. "No!" he cried. "You mustn't go! You won't make it back in time!" He threw all of his weight backwards, forcing the pair to stumble across the chalk line and into the safety of the magical circle.

Once he had regained his balance, Jecht turned his fierce dark eyes on him, baring his teeth in a wild grimace. The man's anguish and fear over his son were painfully apparent. The younger man braced himself for retaliation, either verbal or physical, but before the elder could do or say a thing, a dome of sparkling white light rose into existence around them, anchored to the ground by the chalk markings on the floor. They turned to find Braska sitting on the ground, cross-legged, his hands pressed against each other and glowing with the power of his strong magic. The sorcerer's calm eyes were full of regret as he gazed at them. "I'm sorry, Jecht," he whispered.

"No!" Jecht cried, but he stopped his instinctive lunge towards the dome's edge as the sound of feet rapidly descending the stairs reached them. In the next second, Kimahri appeared in the doorway, carrying a protesting Tidus over his shoulder. At the sight of the magical barrier, the manservant paused, unsure of what he should do.

At that moment, the curse arrived. The window shattered. Braska leapt to his feet and reached out a hand, opening a temporary hole in the barrier. His face set with determination, Kimahri planted his feet and threw Tidus towards the opening with all his strength. Jecht caught his son, the pair of them tumbling to the floor, and Braska resealed the barrier just as the wave of smoke engulfed them, covering the entire room with swirling darkness and swallowing the loyal servant completely.

"Kimahri!" the young guardian cried as the man disappeared. Despairingly, he ran up to the very edge of the sparkling dome and searched the thick fog, but he could see nothing of the servant's fate. The mass of purple and green hung heavy in the air, remaining impenetrable even as it moved and shifted. He stared at it in sorrow and hopelessness. He had no doubt that the four of them within this barrier were the only ones in the country who had remained safe. Whether the others were dead or just cursed, he did not know, but either way an entire nation had fallen in the span of a few minutes. The destruction was simply unfathomable.

"What happened?" he whispered to the tendrils of mist that seemed to reach for him as they swirled and tumbled. "Great God and Goddess, Lord of Darkness and Lady of Light, _what happened?!?_"

Slowly, he sank to his knees and buried his face in his hands.

An hour passed, and then a second, and still the curse that surrounded them did not disperse or even thin. Young Tidus had curled up next to the dome, as far from his father as possible, and fallen asleep, and even Jecht had stretched out on his back with his hands behind his head. The younger warrior, however, could not find it within himself to rest. A terrible foreboding had gripped him and kept his heart prisoner. He trusted Braska completely and believed in the man's strength, and yet he could not help but feel that they would not be able to escape this curse. Something within him kept telling him that they would not live to see the coming of the morning sun.

The sorcerer had spent the previous two hours in deep concentration, trying to analyze the curse and discover a way to counteract it, but as the third hour passed the half-way mark, he sighed and shook his head. The worried expression on his face slowly turned to one of resignation.

"Auron, Jecht," he said.

His guardians both looked to him, and Braska offered them a small, tired smile.

"This is hopeless," he pronounced. "This curse is the strongest I have ever seen. I cannot find a single weakness in it, nor can I determine how long it will be in effect. It may linger here for days, even weeks. Far longer than I will be able to hold this barrier. We cannot simply wait it out."

"Then what should we do?" Jecht asked, sitting up and leaning forward. "Just give up and accept whatever it is that's out there?"

"Not quite," the sorcerer replied, shaking his head slightly. "I have been thinking about what I can do, and I do have an option available to me. However …" He paused and fixed his calm gaze on each of them in turn. "I can only save two of you."

The young guardian choked on his own breath and stared at his master in dumbfounded horror. Such a terrible pronouncement to be forced to make! The hope that had surged in his chest at the possibility of an option died away.

"What will happen to the other two?" Jecht was asking, his expression suddenly somber. "Take their chances with the curse?"

"No," Braska answered easily. "I and whoever stays with me shall die. The curse will not touch us." When more questions appeared to be coming, he held up one hand for silence and, with the other one, pulled at a chain that lay around his neck. The pendant came free from its hiding place beneath his clothes, and he held it out for the other two to see. "I believe the three of you have never met," he said with a little smile.

The young guardian stared in wonder and awe at the small stone that lay in the sorcerer's palm. Its completely black surface glittered in ways that had nothing to do with the sparkling light surrounding them. "That's Magicite," he breathed.

"It is," Braska replied. "His name is Sin, although he has deigned to tell me little else."

"Can you manifest him?"

"I cannot. He did, however, teach me the ways to use his magic." Gently, Braska detached the stone from the chain around his neck and held it loose in his palms. "I propose," he stated, "to borrow Sin's powers and send two of you through the currents of magic that flow within the earth to arrive back in our homeland. The trip should be without pain and almost instantaneous. You will be safe, far away from the curse that lingers here."

Surging forward to rest on his knees, the younger man demanded, "Why can you not go as well? Why can you only send two of us?"

Braska smiled at him, a tender expression that tore at his heart. "I cannot go because I must manipulate the spell. I am not powerful enough to direct it while being affected by it. Also, trying to transport myself would be a worthless endeavor. This spell will require all my energy. _All_ of it, Auron, including my life energy." His smile saddened and he looked down at the stone in his hands. "I will not survive it."

Stricken, the warrior collapsed forward onto his hands. "But …" he stammered. "… but …"

"As to why I can only send two of you," Braska continued, pretending not to notice, "that is because one must stay here to assist me." A pained expression crossed his face as he closed his eyes and bowed his head slightly. "I will need all of my energy to perform this spell," he explained in a low voice. "That includes the energy that keeps this barrier intact. If I attempt the spell without it, it will very likely fail, but if I remove the barrier first, I will not have enough time to cast the spell before the curse falls upon us. Therefore, I will need one of you to volunteer to strengthen the barrier for me."

"Strengthen it?" Jecht echoed, his voice and face without emotion. "How?"

Braska winced, and when he spoke, it was barely a whisper. "With … your soul. You must … merge with the barrier. Then, I will be able to withdraw my power and use it elsewhere."

"I see," Jecht said tonelessly. Suddenly, he was on his feet, expression determined. "I'll do it," he stated. "Send Auron and Tidus to safety."

"What?" the youngest cried, half-rising from the floor. "No! You can't!"

"Are you sure, Jecht?" Braska asked him, his gaze steady.

"Yes, I'm sure. This is my home, my country. You're being kind enough to save my son. The least I can do to apologize to you as well as repay you is this."

"No!" he near-screamed, voice cracking. "No! There must be another way! There must!"

"Auron," Braska interrupted, soft and gentle, "there is no other way. At least, none that we can find with the time we have been given. I have already lost over two hours worth of magic. If we hesitate, I will only lose more."

Jecht's large hand descended upon his shoulder and pulled him up into a standing position beside him. "Auron," the older man said solemnly, "take care of Tidus for me."

"Don't do this, Jecht," he begged, taking the other man by the front of his shirt. "Don't throw your life away like this. Both of you, don't do this!"

Beside them, Braska stood and continued to smile. "There is no shame in giving your life to save another's, Auron. Didn't you vow to do the same when you became my guardian? Though you offered to protect me, I shall protect you instead." He stepped forward and removed one of the hands that gripped Jecht's shirt, taking it instead in his own. "If you could," he added, "I would appreciate it if you could look after Yuna for me as well."

His eyes burning with threatening tears, the young man looked between his two closest friends before dropping his head and his hands in resignation. "Of course I will," he swore to them. "I will protect both of your children with my life."

"Thank you," Braska replied. Jecht merely nodded and clapped him on the back once.

While the other two men prepared for the spell that would claim both of their lives, the youngest of them walked over to the teenager's side and miserably sat down next to him. The boy was still sleeping, although fitfully as if troubled by unpleasant dreams. He lightly placed a hand on the boy's elbow, not knowing exactly what was involved in the upcoming transportation. As he did so, a thin bubble appeared around the pair of them, and he looked up in surprise to find Braska smiling at him, the gently glowing Magicite resting in his hand. Jecht was, he realized with a jolt that sent him reeling, already gone.

In the moments that followed, when the world became distorted through a film of water and right before his vision blacked out, the warrior and guardian focused solely on Braska's small, sincere smile. The sorcerer looked magnificent in his final moments, his entire body glowing with pure, powerful magic, the Magicite floating in the air between his lifted hands. There was no fear on his face and no regret, only peace. It made the younger man want to cry out to him, but he held his tongue, forcing himself to simply watch and burn the memory of the incredible man into his mind.

Then, he was moving, falling, spinning and hurtling through absolute darkness. The varying pressures pushed and pulled at him, making him disoriented as he was buffeted about. He could hear nothing but the sound of _rushing_ as he flew through the currents, and he fought to keep his grip on the teenager at his side. Several times, he cursed himself for not grabbing onto the boy more tightly beforehand, but he felt certain that he would be able to hold onto him until their trip ended. Then, in an instant, a bump, a twist, a pull, and the boy was gone. He screamed the other's name, but even his own voice did not reach his ears through the rushing, roaring noise. Frantically, he searched as best he could, but he could see nothing but darkness, hear nothing but wind, and feel nothing but despair as he continued on his journey, alone.


	7. The Wise King

**The Saga of the Seven Espers: Prologue**

**Description: **Every story has a beginning. It began with a war. It began with a spell. It began with a birth, with a death, with a dream, with a nightmare. Every story has a beginning. This is how this story began.

**Disclaimer: **All characters are the property of Square-Enix and/or Disney.

* * *

**The Wise King**

_Sixth, the wisest of the seven  
Coveted by every king  
Hidden whispers, eyes to heaven  
Fickle fortune, power sing_

xXx

_1730 M.T._

The night that King Raminas died, all the country mourned. The Temple bells tolled steadily into the darkness, and all the people of the village left their homes, candles in hand, to gather in the square and pray together. Grown men who daily endured the hardships of a workman's life fell to their knees and wept beside their wives and children. Several female servants in the castle fled to the rooftop to tear their hair and howl their grief to the skies, and the entirety of the castle guard assembled in the throne room and stood at silent attention for a full hour, sliding tears the only movement that could be seen. All expressed their deep despair at losing such a kind and just king so suddenly, his illness having taken him in a matter of days.

The following day, the mourning in the village continued, but those in the castle found themselves too busy to grieve. Princess Ashelia remained as visible as possible, hiding her tears and giving orders regarding her father's funeral. Although several people offered to take the burden from her, she insisted on doing everything herself, personally arranging every last detail down to the flowers on the king's casket. The castle folk rallied around her, deeply proud of their princess who would, in proper time, become their queen. Foremost among them, Captain fon Ronsenburg and Captain Azelas dedicated themselves to the princess, one or the other of them at her side at all times, supporting her in any way they could. On the day of the funeral, they never left her. Even as she knelt beside her father's casket, they stood at attention nearby while the priest conducted the ceremony. To the young soldier who stood with the rest of the guard in formal array, the sight of the princess's grief and the captains' loyalty could surely melt even the cold and stony heart of the King of the Underworld.

That evening, the young soldier found himself off-duty and restless of heart. Rather than roam the halls or risk reprimand by trespassing in the royal gardens, he stole away to the rooftop, hoping that gazing at the stars in the wide open sky would calm his unease. Unfortunately, his idea was not a unique one. As he finished ascending the stairs, he noticed another figure already leaning against the balustrade. At first, he hoped they could share the night sky in peace, but as he stepped closer, he recognized the other man's identity with a jolt of shock and fear. Apologizing hurriedly, he quickly turned away.

"Stay," the captain stopped him. "Do not leave on my account. "

"I … I would not … not want to … intrude …" he stumbled and stuttered.

"You are not intruding," his superior assured him, kindness in his voice. "Come. If you seek refuge from your sorrow, join me. The stars have more than enough comfort for the both of us. Nay," he added when the younger man made to go the other way, "come stand beside me. I could use the joy of another's presence on a night like tonight."

Trembling terribly with disbelief and sparking hope, the younger man slowly moved forward until he was standing within an arm's breadth of his captain and hero. The other man had returned to gazing at the stars, his golden hair swaying gently in the slight breeze. Neither said a word for several minutes, although the younger, unable to believe that he was alone with the man he idolized, stared mostly at his hands and fought to keep his nervousness hidden from the other.

"What is your name, soldier?" the captain asked, finally breaking the silence.

The young soldier lifted his head to find friendly eyes gazing down at him. Swallowing the thick lump that had risen in his throat, he answered, "Reks, sir. My name is Reks."

"Reks," the other repeated, turning his head back to look out at the night once more. "Believe you, Reks, that the Goddess Mother selects the purest and kindest of souls to reside with her in glory rather than allow them to descend to the Underworld?" he asked in a low, guarded voice.

After swallowing again, he replied, "My mother always told my brother and I that story, sir. Sometimes we would jest that she did so to compel us to behave." He hesitated briefly, but then stated, "Yes, sir. I believe in it. I know the Temples would have us forget the ancient religion, but I still believe."

"I see." The captain smiled gently, the smallest turn of his lips. "I am not certain what it is I believe, but if the old stories are true, surely our king is with the Goddess now. It is some comfort at least, as is the knowledge that the one he left behind will continue to lead our country into prosperity. It may take her some time to adjust, but I know she will succeed."

The young man at his side had no reply. Thankfully, the sound of ascending feet drove away the need for one. As they both turned towards the stairs, the second captain of the guard appeared, his face drawn into its customary frown.

"Here you are, Basch," he said as way of greeting. "I have searched half the castle for you this night. What possessed you to come up here?"

"My apologies," the addressed returned, moving around the younger man to come closer to his comrade. "I needed a moment to myself to collect my thoughts. Had I known I would be needed, I would have informed you of my destination before I left."

"Well," the irritated man huffed, "I've found you now. The princess is asking for you. You should go to her at once."

"Of course." He stepped forward, but before he had taken two steps, he turned back to the young soldier with a smile. "Reks, I wish you a good evening," he said kindly, causing shivers of happiness to race up the youth's arms. "I shall not forget the conviction you showed when you spoke to me of your beliefs," he continued. "Perhaps it will help me to decide what it is that I believe." Inclining his head in a small sign of farewell, he turned away and quickly descended the stairs. The other captain threw the star-struck young man a puzzled half-glare but soon vanished as well, leaving him alone in the starlight.

The passage of time ceased to have meaning for the soldier as he stood there, gazing out at the night with unseeing eyes. He could hardly believe that just moments before, his captain whom he admired so very much had stood beside him and spoken to him. He had been close enough to see the reflection of the moon in the older man's eyes, to see individual strands of hair as they blew across his temple. The captain had spoken his name and stated that he would remember him. If he were a female, the soldier was certain he would have swooned. As it was, he could hardly wait for his next day of leave so that he could visit his brother and tell him everything. The boy would almost certainly laugh and tease him mercilessly about his hero-worship, but he did not care. His joy simply would not be lessened.

Several hours later -- how many, he did not know -- the soldier turned away from the balustrade and began his long walk back to the barracks within the castle. The halls were sleepily quiet as he progressed down the many floors, but once he had reached the ground floor, he began to notice a change. More torches than the customary ones for nighttime had been lit, and the few guards that should have been present had left their posts. Beginning to feel concerned, he traveled on, his path taking him through the front of the castle on his way to the back.

He began to hear the noise about twenty paces from the closed door of the throne room: the metallic rustling of many weapons and suits of armor and the sound of a single man speaking in loud tones. Immediately, he broke out into a run and reached the door within seconds, opening it to find his captain and idol standing at the front of the hall in the midst of a speech to what appeared to be the entire castle guard.

"I repeat, she must be brought in alive!" he ordered his men, expression pulled into a fierce frown. "If she resists, you may use force, but do not kill her. Captain Azelas may be with her. If that is the case, use extreme caution but do not under any circumstances allow them to escape. I would prefer him alive as well, but it is not necessary. If you must kill him to secure the princess, by all means do so. Commanders, I expect frequent reports on your men's movements and findings. Now go!" He threw out an arm to encompass the entire assembly, and within seconds, soldiers were pouring through the door, their weapons at the ready.

Jumping aside to avoid them, the young soldier pushed his way through the ocean of bodies, desperate to speak with the man at the other end of the hall, the man whose manner was suddenly so different from what it had been before. He briefly thought he heard his own commander call him, but the man was on the other side of the room, going in the opposite direction, so he ignored it completely. He wanted to hear the explanation from his captain and only his captain.

"Captain!" he cried when he had finally fought his way far enough to be seen and heard. The older man turned his way at the sound and fixed his eyes upon him. For a brief, frozen moment, the soldier was rooted to the floor. His captain's eyes, previously so very kind, were now cold and terrible.

The other soldiers around him continued pressing forward, falling away from him and leaving him standing alone, mere feet away from the throne. His captain approached him, filling up the empty space with his angry presence. "You!" he barked. "You came in late. Where were you? Guard duty?"

The soldier's eyes widened and his stomach fell to his feet. "Yes, sir," he whispered, not realizing until after they had left his lips that his words were untrue. Could it be possible that his captain had forgotten him already? He had been so overjoyed to think that the man he admired would know his name and hold even a small memory of him within his heart and mind. Alas, it had all been a false hope. "What has happened, sir?" he asked in a dead voice, the shattered pieces of his heart dissolving slowly in his chest.

The man before him did not look at him, choosing instead to watch the retreating soldiers as he answered, "We have received information that the king was poisoned. At the moment, we suspect Princess Ashelia, and as it appears that she has fled, these suspicions seem to be well-founded. I have ordered the guard to search for her."

Again, shock gripped the young man, this time from the horror and disbelief that rocked him and made his mind reel. "No," he choked out. "That can't be true!"

"So many of your fellow men believe," the captain bit, a slight sneer marring his face, "but until we find and question her, we will not know for certain. Now …" Finally, he turned to face the younger man fully. "… you must join the search as well. Find your commanding officer and rejoin your unit."

Dejected and resigned, the soldier moved to obey, but then he noticed something that made him pause. On his captain's cheek, just under the eye, there were a handful of small blemishes. They were nothing out of the ordinary, but they were definitely noticeable. More importantly, hours ago he had been close enough to see every detail on the captain's pale skin, and his cheek had been completely smooth and unmarked. Those blemishes had not been present.

Realization rushed into him in a giant wave, and he took a step backwards under its onslaught. His emotions had blinded him. First disappointment and then shock had kept him from seeing the differences between the captain he knew and the man who now stood before him. Those eyes for one; the captain would never have eyes like that no matter how angry he became. Their voices were different as well, this man carrying an accent just different enough to be discerned. Finally, his brave and loyal captain would never send the whole of the guards out to hunt down the princess and Captain Azelas, no matter what kind of information he had received. The thought was utterly ridiculous.

"Who are you?" he gasped out, taking another step away from the impostor. "Where is Captain fon Ronsenburg?"

"What are you talking about?" the false captain snapped. "Return to your unit, soldier!"

"No!" he cried, a sudden rage giving him strength. He drew his sword and lowered into an attack stance. While he knew he would never be able to defeat the real captain, he had no such worries about this man. "You are not the captain," he stated with calm assurance. "I know not what spell has given you his appearance, but it is not good enough. Surrender at once, or I will --"

Pain sliced his voice and stopped his words. Slowly, his eyes lowered to his chest. A giant shard of ice was protruding from it, stretching out a good seven or eight inches and ending in a deadly point. As he watched, the projectile faded away in a shimmer of magic, but the pain remained, driving him to his knees and forcing him to drop his sword. Gasping for every fire-laced breath, he tried to keep himself upright with his hands but failed, falling into a crumpled heap on the ground.

"Oh dear," a smooth voice spoke from behind him. "It appears, Gabranth, that you do not resemble your brother as much as we had hoped."

"My apologies, Highness," the voice of the fake captain returned. "Perhaps I should have worn a glamour as Master Cidolfus suggested."

"No, no," the first voice assured him. "This way is best. A spell is easily detected and easily broken. You did well enough with the rest of the guards, and we only need you to fill his shoes until we find the princess. I have faith in your success."

The even tread of boots sounded in the dying soldier's ears, and the first man appeared in his fading sight. He recognized the man instantly: Vayne, the king's nephew. They had been tricked. If the king had in fact been poisoned, it was by this man, not the princess who he now knew had fled for her own protection. This was a coup, engineered by the dark-haired man before him with the assistance of the captain's brother, a man who looked enough like him to fool the entire castle guard. Despair flooded him as he coughed and shuddered on the ground.

A third voice suddenly broke through his pain, this one coming from the main door to the room and rapidly approaching. "Lord Vayne," it said in a deep, gripping timber, "have you found it yet?"

"No," Vayne sighed with obvious annoyance. "I thought for certain it would be in Raminas's possessions, but it was not. Surely the princess will know. Once we find her, we can have her tell us."

"She will not willingly reveal its location to us," the fake captain warned.

"I am sure we will be able to persuade her in one way or another," Vayne replied, his smile evident in his silky tones.

A particularly violent shudder gripped the young soldier and forced a small whine from his throat. _Goddess_, he began to pray within his mind, _I beg of you. Hear my last request._

"Who is this boy?" the third voice demanded, its owner towering over him. His face was hidden beneath the hood of a black cloak that covered his enormous frame.

_I care not what happens to me after my death, so please, Goddess, direct your power and mercy towards protecting my brother._

"No one of concern," Vayne replied. "Leave him be. He will die soon enough."

_If the price is that I sacrifice my chance to be with you, I would gladly give that up._

"I don't like loose ends. Too often they are picked up by others and retied."

_I would gladly accept the horrors of the Underworld if it meant that he would receive your blessing. So please, my Goddess, fulfill my last wish._

"Fine, do as you will. Just don't get any blood on the carpet."

_Protect him. Protect him always._

The red glow of magic appeared in the air, burning with the power of sudden death.

_Protect Vaan._


	8. The Faithful Wife

**The Saga of the Seven Espers: Prologue**

**Description: **Every story has a beginning. It began with a war. It began with a spell. It began with a birth, with a death, with a dream, with a nightmare. Every story has a beginning. This is how this story began.

**Disclaimer: **All characters are the property of Square-Enix and/or Disney.

* * *

**The Faithful Wife**

_Place these stones at once together  
Goddess and great gods once more  
Trembling land and change of weather  
Power lies beyond the door_

_Now the seventh, story tragic  
Blood spills from the faithful wife  
Daughter weeps, the ancient magic  
Brings forth new and winged life_

xXx

_1682 M.T._

Blood slowly slid down the length of the sword, gathering at the tip of the weapon and dripping onto the ground to form a small, dark pool. The corpse lay sprawled upon the forest floor, its throat cut from ear to ear. For a minute or so after the extremely short battle had ended, the victor looked down impassively at his kill before kneeling to clean his blade as best he could using the dead man's torn and mud-spattered clothes.

"You have learned a lesson today, thief," he said amiably to the cooling mass of flesh before him. "That is not to steal the purse of an excellent tracker and mercenary like myself. Unfortunately, it seems as if you will not be able to put this lesson to good use. That is quite a shame."

He rose and, walking around the ex-thief's small fire, knelt down again by the pile of provisions that the man had assembled. The first large bag revealed an impressive collection of coins, jewels, and money pouches when it was overturned, and the mercenary soon found his stolen purse within the pile. Initially, he had not planned on taking any more than he had lost, but the sheer amount of wealth before him proved to be extremely tempting.

"If I just leave it here, it'll only get taken by some other thief," he reasoned to himself as he picked up an extra purse and began to fill it with coins and the choicest jewels. "Besides, I had to take a side-trip to retrieve my money and that created unseen expenses. Then, there's the idea of a reward. I've eliminated a criminal; I deserve compensation. So really, there's nothing wrong with me taking this. Nothing at all." Having convinced himself, he nodded happily and continued shifting through the ex-thief's takings.

Something rustled nearby, and in an instant, the mercenary was on guard, sword in hand and senses alert. He scanned the surrounding forest with eagle eyes, searching for the origin of the noise. While it could have been a simple animal passing by, it could just as easily have been a human drawn to the gently smoking fire. Slowly, he rose to his feet, prepared for action, waiting.

When the noise occurred again, he spun towards it to find to his surprise that its source was much closer than he expected. Rather than a creature in the forest, the movement had come from the other side of the pile of provisions. Even as he watched, one of the smaller bags shifted on its own. For a moment, he wondered if the thief had stolen something cursed or otherwise magical and considered running, but something about the shape and movement of the small bundle compelled him to step forward instead of away. Carefully, he approached it and, once he had knelt down next to it, pulled aside a bit of what he could now see was not a bag but a cloth covering.

The moment he caught a glimpse of what was inside, the mercenary toppled backwards onto his rump in utter shock. His staring eyes sought out and found the cooling corpse nearby.

"You monstrous thief," he whispered. "How did you steal this?"

Predictably, the corpse had no reply. Pulling himself back onto his knees, the dumbfounded man gazed again down into the folds of the small bundle. The child within gazed back with clear blue eyes. He was truly a beautiful sight with smooth, rosy cheeks, a cute little nose, and a head of hair more golden and pure than the stolen coins that lay forgotten on the ground. What made him more rare and more precious than the combined worth of the entire assembled treasure, however, were the two newly budding wings that folded around him, forced to follow the curves of the blanket as it held the infant tightly.

Overwhelmed, the mercenary could only stare. He knew far more fairy lore than most mortals, but even he had no idea how to enter their realm. How was it possible that this second-rate thief had discovered the means to enter, stolen what appeared to be a newborn fairy child from the branches of the Goddess Tree, and managed to escape? More importantly, what was he to do with the child now?

The babe, who had not once broken their stare, suddenly smiled. "Aaa," he cooed and lifted up one tiny hand to grasp the air with pudgy fingers. Allowing himself to be lulled for just this moment, the man smiled back and gathered the bundle into his arms. He offered his pinky finger to the small hand, and it was soon encased in a firm grip. "Aaa," the child said again and laughed, pleased.

Sighing, the mercenary rose to his feet and slowly walked back to where he had left his original purse as well as his well-earned reward. "Child," he said quietly to those beautiful blue eyes, "what am I to do? I cannot take you with me. My lifestyle forbids it. If I leave you here, you will not starve, for I know that fairies receive their nourishment from the sun and the air. Yet some animal will surely find you and think you a snack. My heart will not allow me to abandon you knowing this. I suppose I could try to find your people for you, but I imagine they would kill me before I could explain why I have you. I'm sure you can understand why I would rather not follow that plan. So then, what options remain for us?" He jiggled his finger, causing the small hand to bounce, and smiled. "What say you, fairy child? Have you any ideas?"

The babe merely laughed and wiggled in his arms.

"What a pleasant child you are," he commented, laughing as well. "Any mother would rejoice to have one such as you … as her son …" Voice trailing away, he lifted his head and stared off into the distance, unseeing. An idea had come to him from some hidden depths within his mind. Quickly, he searched his knowledge of the surrounding area for something suitable. It took him a few minutes to remember clearly, but at last he found what he was seeking. The only remaining question was if he could find the correct house before morning arrived.

His decision made, the mercenary knelt once more and carefully laid the child onto the ground. He unwrapped the blanket fully and picked up the small body to turn it over onto its stomach. The infant fairy giggled and lifted his head, looking around with bright-eyed interest. Free of their prison, his tiny wings stretched out over him and fluttered slightly. They sparkled in the dying firelight, blues and greens shining like gems. On an adult, they would have been wondrous to behold, extending above his head and reaching out twice the length of his arm-span. These infant wings were smaller than the mortal man's hand, yet they were still beautiful in their color and purity. No man-made treasure could compare.

His chest tightening painfully, the mercenary shut his eyes and hung his head. "I am sorry, child," he whispered, "but I must do this. I can think of no other option. Please, accept my sincerest apologies, and I pray that you and your Goddess Mother may forgive me." Softly, tenderly, he grasped one of the wings at its delicate base.

That night, animals throughout the forest, both large and small, paused at the frightened scream that split the air and trembled with sympathy.

Hours later, the mercenary stood at the forest's edge, watching from its shadows as morning began to creep over the nearby hills. The small wooden cabin before him was still dark inside, but he could see the tell-tale flicker of a single candle moving about. His eyes strayed to the cabin's doorstep where a tightly-wrapped bundle was squirming and whining. A moment later, the door opened and a young man, muscled from labor and browned from the sun, appeared in the entryway. He blinked about sleepily, confused, but then his gaze fell and he instantly became alert. Turning, he called to someone inside before crouching down and lifting up the bundle. Within moments, a woman appeared at his side, and she soon took her husband's burden from him, equally surprised but also overjoyed. The door closed soon after, leaving only the memory of the couple's sudden happiness.

Unnoticed, the mercenary turned away and began his new journey. The pain of what he had done still lingered, but it was fading before the knowledge that the child would grow up happy and loved. "Goddess protect you always," he murmured, not looking back. "May your life and destiny be blessed."

xXx

_Flutt'ring hearts, when all have perished  
__Then the Final Key shall rise  
__Precious treasure, thing most cherished  
__Ope the door and split the skies_

_With this ends my simple story  
__Let it spread to distant parts  
__Children, sing out songs of glory  
__Heaven lies within our hearts_

* * *

A/N: So ends the prologue for "The Saga of the Seven Espers". If you liked it, please visit my profile and vote as to how you would like to see the rest of the story told. There will be six "books", one for each set of main characters, and you can let me know by voting how you would like the books to be presented. The pairings in this story will be Riku/Sora, Leon/Cloud, mild Axel/Roxas, mild Demyx/Zexion, Vincent/Yuffie, Tidus/Yuna, Basch/Ashe, and a possible pairing for Vaan, either Penelo or Balthier (I'm not wedded to either of these).

If you have questions, feel free to ask them, but I plan to be rather tight-lipped about this story. I purposely did not reveal any of the country names in the prologue, and, while each of the seven Espers were either present or referred to in their respective chapters, I only named two of them. I plan to reveal their history slowly and in pieces, letting the reader know only as much as the characters know. As to when I'll get around to writing the books themselves, it will depend partly on the outcome of the poll, but I will probably intersperse them with other stories that I have planned/need to finish. Definitely do not expect the first book/set of posts before "Come Home" is finished. I will try to resume updates for that story soon, although I don't know if I will have internet access from Saturday until New Year's.

Again, a Merry Christmas to everyone!


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